


Novem

by Enigma3000



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, M/M, Poetry, Royalty, for now at least, oh very angst, so poetry fic it is, tHANK U, this is entirely poetry, too lazy to write a fic too stubborn to let the idea go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/pseuds/Enigma3000
Summary: "TheNavarasa,in the scriptures refer to the nine expressions that humans often show.These are love (shringaara), laughter (haasya), kind-heartedness or compassion (karuna), anger (roudra), courage (veera), fear (bhayaanaka), disgust (bheebhatsya), wonder or surprise (adbhutha) and peace or tranquility (shaantha)."The tale of a king and his prince, as told through the nine human emotions.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	Novem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feb-april era gc <3](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=feb-april+era+gc+%26lt%3B3).



> I had this idea month upon months ago- February, i think. Just never got around to writing it. I don't think I ever will, either. But as one of the first AUs I thought of for this fandom, (or for any fandom, really), it's special to me. And it deserves to be out there.
> 
> So here I am. 
> 
> Putting it out there.

**Hāsya**

**(Sanskrit: हास्य)**

_"Laughter."_

one of the nine **rasas** or **bhava** (mood) of Indian aesthetics, usually translated as _humour_ or _comedy._

* * *

_A boy king,_ they call him

The words ring hollow

For his heart holds no youth

As his hands hold no power

_A true heir,_ they say.

They call it his destiny.

_A fraud,_ he muses.

He declares it his burden.

He’s frustrated.

Helpless.

He screams.

It’s too loud. Much too loud.

He falls silent.

He waits in terror, 

For the man who won’t come

Who never will, again

_ Dead, _ he reminds himself.

_ He’s gone.  _

_ (Just like she is). _

_ You’re safe. He’s gone. _

It’s a blessing. 

It’s a curse.

It’s solitude.

It’s lonely.

It’s relief. 

But it’s suffering.

_ A hero, _ they insist.

_ Orphan,  _ he says.

They see a lion

A paragon of courage.

A leader by blood

A ruler by fate.

They see a new beginning.

The crown touches

The tips of his hair

and it scares him,

He winces. Hard

The crown lies, unpleasant

Upon their new king

And it comforts them

They cheer

The crown hangs heavy 

On his young head

And yet, he holds it high

For he sees a phoenix.

He sees an end.

A possibility for change

He sees a rebirth.

_ (And there is no rebirth...) _

Kartik Singh’s heart stops

_ (...Without death) _

Maharaja Singh’s begins to beat.

_ This is not who you are, _

His heart tells him

_ it couldn’t be, _

His heart tells him

_ It never will be. _

It’s the truth.

But it isn’t  _ right. _

_ (why does it have to be?) _

He laughs, then.

Loud and raw.

It rings hollow.

* * *

He’s sheer gentleness, this boy

A poet

A healer

A lover

A rose amidst a horde of thorns

A moment’s peace amidst a war

He’s shade in searing heat

The calm after a storm

He laughs, and it’s a sound so pretty

The heavens stare in awe

He’s utter brilliance, this boy

A blue diamond, amongst crystal

His mind was born for greatness

His hands, born for art

_ A gem, _ they used to call him

_ A genius, _ they used to say

_ (Why did they stop?) _

He’s a disappointment, this boy

A failure

A disgrace

An embarrassment.

For he prefers a pen to a sword,

chooses to heal, than to hurt

He prefers love to loathing

Compassion over contempt

_ He isn’t a king,  _ his father says

_ He never will be _ .

He doesn’t want to be.

_ I’m a poet, _ he screams silently.

_ A healer _

_ A lover. _

His father seethes.

They laugh.

But he doesn’t.

Not like he used to.

He’s a boy, 

_ (though they claim he isn’t) _

Who craves the touch of another.

He hates himself for it

Just as they hate him.

He knows they’ll laugh 

If he showed them his heart

So hides it away,

won’t let them see.

And yet, they don’t stop.

He hears them call him.

Not his name. 

Not  _ Aman Tripathi. _

They use words that hurt

Taunts that jab

And so he runs.

He runs fast. Runs far.

The wind stings his tear streaked face

He stops, miles and miles away

Too tired to feel 

Too tired to cry

So he laughs

And he laughs

And he laughs.

Lesser, lesser, _lesser._

Until he laughs no more.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating this every other day. That's not a promise.


End file.
